Gasoline
by azaleahs
Summary: Until November 6, 1983, Heather Gilmore had seen Hawkins for what everyone else did: a small town where nothing tragic every really seemed to happen. After November 6, 1983, though? After that day, Heather Gilmore was quite certain she was stood at the mouth of hell.
1. Coffee and Contemplation

Chief Jim Hopper lives near the outskirts of Hawkins, Indiana purely based on the fact that he hates interacting with people.

His trailer — although it's not really a trailer because it isn't really metal or small or situated in a trailer park, but that's beside the point — sits out by the water and among nature, where it's quiet, peaceful, with no one to nag him at every hour. His place of residence, where he's resided for the five years he's been back in his small hometown, was a decision he made simply because he didn't want to be bothered at home. Home was where he could get relaxation, drink and smoke to his heart's desire, pass out at odd hours, and not have to worry about someone knocking at his door when they shouldn't be.

His life is already stressful enough as it is, what with work and his past — he doesn't need annoying neighbors making noises or kids running up and down the street at odd hours or people knocking on the door asking for sugar. Not that he has sugar, anyways. He drinks his coffee black, the bitter taste the only thing able to wake him up in the morning. Besides his cigarettes, of course.

Either way, he wants to be alone. That's why he chooses to live where he does, as far away from everyone as he can get without bordering into the next town. And his plan works. There's no neighbors making noises or kids running up and down the street at odd hours, no one knocking down his door for sugar. He lives at home in solitude and it's perfect. Wonderful. Hell, he'll go as far as to say that it's absolutely delightful. His plan works. Well, sort of. It sort of works. Because unfortunately, amidst concocting his master plan to remain isolated during his non-working hours, he had forgotten to factor in a rather relentless, overly annoying sixteen year old girl with a penchant for bothering him when he didn't want to be bothered.

Heather Gilmore, the overly annoying sixteen year old in question, doesn't seem to care that Hopper wants to be alone. Hell, she's never cared that he's wanted to be alone. For the past five years, she's gone through the motions of him complaining about this being his territory, land that other should not cross. She goes against the grain, the laws of his land, by implanting herself in his presence whenever the need arises.

Today, the need is that it's Saturday, she has nothing to do but avoid studying for a chemistry exam, and her mother asked her to stop by. And because of this, she ventures to the outskirts of town where his not-so-trailer trailer sits by the water among nature, not caring that the man will probably want to vault her into the nearby lake. With her hair pulled back into a tight ponytail and a grin on her lips, she parks her rather crappy, somewhat rusted, cherry red Chevelle right alongside the vehicle branded with the words Hawkins Police Dept and Chief.

It is exactly seven thirteen in the morning, a good forty or so minutes before the Chief would have to leave for work. It also probably means that Hopper isn't even up at all, considering the man rarely rose around the same time the sun did. No, the chief liked to stay passed out in bed (or on the couch or sometimes the kitchen table, wherever he had last been situated when the darkness known as sleep consumed him) until at least a good ten minutes before he had to leave for work. But the Gilmore girl pays no attention to that small fact. She doesn't care that her sudden presence will awake him from slumber. In fact, she seems to operate with that knowledge that he's asleep working to her advantage.

Unclipping her seat belt, the sixteen year old leans over towards the passenger seat, quickly grabbing the brown paper bag that resided there. She also wrangles out two cups of coffee that she'd belted down in the passenger seat, seeing as her older model car didn't come equipped with cup holders. She sighs vehemently at that fact, to be completely honest. Cup holders were a necessity, this should have been figured out eons ago. But she digresses, plastering an even brighter smile on her face before she struggles to clamber out of her car without dropping anything. She manages to do so and closes the door of her car with her hip.

The blonde makes the short trek to the trailer, makes it up the small set of stairs, before setting the coffee and paper bag down by her feet. Having been making these early morning visits for a while now, she doesn't even bother to go through the normal social conventions of knocking — the chances of Hopper being awake are slim to none and she'd rather just skip necessary wastes of her time. So, instead, she slips one of the bobby pins out of her hair, the ones she put in to keep her flyaways from, well, flying away. She bends the metal rather aggressively before bending down slightly to be eye level with the deadbolt lock on Hopper's door. She slips the bobby pin into the keyhole and begins rummaging around, focused intently on popping the lock.

Heather is quite possibly the only person in Hawkins who would maintain such an unbothered, happy composure while picking the lock of the police chief's door. To an outsider, this scenario would look reckless, like she was actively seeking for one of those cards in Monopoly that say "go directly to jail, do not pass go, do not collect $200". But then again, an outsider wouldn't know her relationship with Hawkins grumbling police officer or that it's pretty much a common occurrence for the Gilmore girl to do some breaking and entering with the man's trailer.

She's at the point with the lock picking to where she thinks she might have popped it open. Heather's grinning wider now as she jiggles the pin a little more aggressively, ready to just get inside instead of being stuck out in the brisk November air. She can smell the coffee, too, as well as the doughnuts sealed in the bag and, Christ, she can feel her stomach grumbling. But, before she gets the final open sesame click she's waiting for, the sound of footsteps from behind the door catch her attention. Heather barely has time to pull the pin from the lock before it's being unlocked from the inside.

The door swings open, Chief Hopper standing before her. He's barely dressed, only in his work pants and a white t-shirt. His beard is untamed as usual and there's an unlit cigarette dangling from his fingers as his eyes land on the blonde on the doorstep. He sighs heavily and Heather can tell he's just recently woke up. After many years of knowing him, she pretty much has the types of sighs Hopper makes down to a science. There's his angry sigh, his laundry list of annoyed sighs, the two types of tired sighs, and his infamous "I just woke the fuck up, why are you bothering me at this hour" sigh. And this is definitely one of them.

He lets out another one of those sighs before asking, "Okay, why?"

"Hi, Uncle Jim," the Gilmore girl greets brightly, not even caring that he just witnessed her trying to pick the lock on his door. He's already seen her do that several times, sometimes the girl actually being able to pop the lock open. Honestly, at this rate, he should just give his niece a spare key.

Again, Hopper stresses, "Why?"

Heather bends down, scooping her items off the small porch. Then, raising the bag and coffees up for him to get a better view, she chirps out, "I come bearing coffee and contemplation!"

Coffee and contemplation has become Hopper's mantra during the morning hours for several years now. In his opinion, there's nothing good about early hours besides the bitter, yet wholesome taste of coffee and the peace and quiet that's supposed to come with the morning hours. People weren't typically awake at these hours, the hours before he leaves for work. Well, they probably are, but never around these parts of Hawkins — again, this is why he lives in the middle of nowhere.

But, instead of getting what he wants, his sixteen year old niece is on his tiny porch, with far too much pep in her step for a teenager at these hours. She brushes past him, without even bothering to ask if she can come in. Heather already knows the answers going to be a resounding no, so she's stopped asking. It's not that Hopper doesn't love his niece, he'd just rather her not be in his presence in the morning. Or the afternoon. Or the night. Honestly, the man just wants to be alone.

He watches as she makes herself comfortable, traipsing through the small space like she lives here. She sets down the two coffees and the paper bag, before she inspects the two coffee cups. She points to one, calling over her shoulder, "This one is yours. Black, just like my soul. And then there's mine, which is filled with so much cream and sugar that it tastes like candy and will probably make you throw up, so don't drink that one."

Hopper shakes his head, letting out an annoyed sigh — it's a number five annoyed sigh, the one that says he's annoyed, but that he'll probably give in to whatever's happening anyways. He shuts the door behind him, before telling her, "None of that answers my why question."

Heather ignores that, smiling at her uncle. She notes, "You're up early, I figured you'd still be wiped out on the couch. Or the floor. Or the table, whatever floated your boat last night."

Hopper gives her a look while she laughs. He groans, rolling his eyes as he moves away from the door. He heads towards her, before scooping the coffee she pointed out as his off the table and setting his cigarette down. He pops the little plastic flap on the lid open before taking a big gulp. It's hot, the kind of hot that'll burn your tongue clean off, but he barely notices it. He gives his niece a pointed look as he tells her, "Jesus. You saw me asleep at the table once. One whole time. It's not a common occurrence, kid."

Heather snorts. "Sure, sure."

A groan escapes her uncle's lips. "Seriously, kid, why the hell are you here?"

"Mom wanted me to check up on you," Heather says simply, as if it should have been obvious, before plopping down on one of the few chairs Hopper had set up in the relative kitchen area of his home.

If Hopper is honest, he's not shocked by Heather's reply to the question. In fact, in the few minutes that she's been in the house, he knew that her mother was the reason. Janet Gilmore, née Hopper, is his younger sister by two years, the one that brought the annoying blonde staring up at him into the world. During their youth, Hopper had done his fair share of looking after Janet, the younger girl having a tad bit of a wild streak during their teenage years. Not to say that he didn't, because he sure as hell kicked up some trouble, but he had always felt responsible for his sister. It sure as hell had eased their parents mind that he took care of her, that's for sure.

This protective nature he had continued well into their adulthood. For instance, when Janet's no good son of a bitch ex-husband bailed on her and their daughter, Hopper had made sure that the two didn't struggle. He's always had his little sister's back, no matter the circumstance.

So the fact that Janet had sent Heather to his house this morning isn't shocking at all. Ever since . . . well, ever since what happened in the big city, the two girls had been watching him like a hawk. There isn't a week where Hopper goes without a visit or a phone call, all means to check up on him. Despite how many times he groans and whines and slams doors like a child, they keep coming back, making sure he was okay and wasn't do anything self destructive as a way of coping. In short, the Gilmore girls are a persistent bunch.

Persistent, but terribly annoying.

"Damn it, Janet," Hopper grumbles. But he moves to sit down, taking the seat across from his niece, who's currently blowing on the steam billowing out of her coffee.

"This isn't Rocky Horror," Heather quips as she does so, a reference that makes Hopper furrow his brow. She ignores his perplexed expression as her hand rifles through the bag she had brought with her, grinning brightly at her uncle. "And besides, like I said, I brought coffee and contemplation to you. Chocolate frosted, your favorite."

"Well, that's where you're wrong, because sleep and lack of little girls banging down my door is my favorite."

"Uh, no, it's chocolate frosted. We went over this two weeks ago when I brought you a strawberry frosted to shake things up. Never seen a man look so damn disappointed in my entire life. And besides, you were already up," Heather points out through a mouthful of glazed doughnut. "And mom wanted me to come visit you because she has an open to close shift at the diner. So, it's either a morning visit from me or a late night visit from a post work Janet. Seriously, Uncle Jim, which one would you rather prefer?"

He mulls it over for a moment, as he reaches for the doughnut bag — Heather wasn't wrong when she said chocolate frosted was his favorite. As he considers her ultimatum, he acknowledges the fact that his sister tends to be a complete ass after a full day shift at her work, so that would probably one hell filled visit. But then again, her daughter's cheeriness at this hour wasn't much better. "Is neither an option?"

Heather gives him a look, before laughing. "Nope."

He groans. Heather shrugs. They chew on their doughnuts and sip their coffee in silence for a few moments. It's peaceful, quiet even. The kind of peaceful and quiet that Hopper moved all the way out here for, just without the addition of being alone. It's a somewhat compromise, halfway happy. He'd still rather her not be present, though. Really took away from the whole being alone thing.

"Don't you have school?" he asks after a few seconds, thinking of things that would cause her to have to leave.

Heather snorts at his sad attempt, not budging from her seat. At this rate, she figures he should just give up. He only had so much time left before he needs to leave for work, it's not like she was planning on being attached to his hip the entire day. God, twenty or so minutes of human contact with someone who cares about him in the morning isn't going to kill him. Finally, after a bit of laughter, she replies, "It's Saturday, Uncle Jim."

He nods. And then, "Well, what about a job? You have one of those, don't you? Down at the Fair Mart?"

The Gilmore girl groans at the mention of the store. The Fair Mart is the local convenience store in Hawkins, a tiny little establishment along one of the main roads in town. It's run by a rather rude, balding man named Henry Larson who tends to push his employees to their breaking points in under a month, one of the few reasons Heather hates the place. If there's one way to piss off the blonde, it's mentioning Fair Mart.

"Nah, I quit that," Heather tells him, rolling her eyes at the mention of her previous employment. And then, with a smirk, she tacks on, "So for the foreseeable future of weekend mornings, expect me at your door."

Hopper furrows his brow as he takes another sip of his coffee. He swallows before asking, "Why'd you quit your job?"

Heather groans. Biting off another chunk of her doughnut, she replies angrily, "The manager is an absolute tool bag, that's why. He kept getting pissy that I couldn't work weekday mornings because I had school. And then he kept trying to schedule me for them, complete bullshit, honestly."

"Didn't you need that job, though?" Hopper questions.

He's not about to reprimand the kid, but he's mildly curious to say the least. For the most part, the Gilmore family are rather low in the bracket of middle, working class. They don't receive any form of child support or alimony from Christian Gilmore, the deadbeat fuckwad having hightailed it out of Hawkins without leaving so much as a forwarding address or phone number in his wake. And Janet's job at the local diner, The Sunrise Cafe, only pays her so much. That being said, once she was legally able to work, Heather had picked up shifts at the Fair Mart to help make ends meet, even having saved up enough to buy her shit box of a car. So to hear that she's quit her job is something a little startling for her uncle to hear.

Heather nods, but gives a small shrug afterwards. "Mom was the one who pushed me to do it. She was sick of having Larson call up bitching about me not being able to work. I'm pretty sure she told him to go stick his head up his ass or something."

"Sounds like Janet," her uncle chuckles. Hopper finally manages to crack a smile at that. It makes Heather smile in return. And then, as if to make her feel better about the situation, Hopper adds, "Fair Mart's coffee sucks anyways."

Heather grins, clutching her coffee cup. Her smile covers her face, reaching her eyes that brighten just a little bit more. A teasing comment lingers on the tip of her tongue, but she holds it in. Because for the first time this morning, Jim Hopper seems content. Happy, even. Her work here for the morning is done. And so she quietly sips her coffee, content knowing that her uncle appears to have left the ghosts of his past in the rear view, even if just for a moment.

 **X**

Heather leaves her uncle's trailer around the same time as when he leaves for work. He seems a little less content with his life when he climbs into his police cruiser, but Heather knows that he'll fight through it regardless. Jim Hopper is nothing if not resilient, nothing if not a fighter.

Still the knowledge that he's off somewhere grumbling, probably yelling at his two bumbling officers Callahan and Powell, dampens her mood slightly. She frowns most of the way home, if she's being honest. Not even the upbeat sounds of Elton John crooning through the airwaves of her shitty stereo isn't enough to put a smile on her face.

She sighs as she drives down the back roads of Hawkins, taking the shortcuts she knows all too well. She's got one hand resting on the wheel, the other propped up against the door, near the mirror. She's barely paying attention, too lost in thought. Thankfully, the streets in Hawkins aren't alive quite yet, most children who play in the streets still warm in bed on this brisk November morning.

Heather briefly wishes she was in bed, to be completely fucking honest. She could technically take a nap when she gets home, but the pile of flashcards and study guides she knows are set on her nightstand for her upcoming chem exam say otherwise. Well, actually, they don't. But Heather knows that if she doesn't start studying today, her best friends will be up her ass about slacking off. Where her two friends are geniuses at anything they put their mind to and can pull good grades out of thin air, Heather was a bit of procrastinating mess. She blames her mother for it, she won't lie. Janet Gilmore tends to push everything off until the absolute last second and by then, she'll probably have forgotten about it anyways, as per her usual scatterbrained nature.

Heather's mulling over whether or not her friends will actually manage to figure out whether she starts studying as soon as possible or whether she can fit in a quick catnap (read as: she's planning on going back to bed for as long as possible and probably won't wake up until the sun sets, honestly) as she starts turning down Westminster. That's her street, a rather small road off of Connolly, only about five or six families inhabiting the houses there. The Gilmore girls live in the very last house on the road, number seven, the one right before the street becomes a dead end and divulges into the woods.

It's a quiet street for the most part, the neighbors being some of the Hawkins residents that actually mind their own fucking business instead of trying to involve themselves in literally every aspect of everyone else's days. Heather appreciates that. Her neighbors deserve muffin baskets. Or, like, a fruit basket on the off chance that muffins aren't their thing.

When she turns down the street, Heather immediately notices something's different. There's a car parked in front of her house, a maroon BMW that stands out terribly amongst the street of older cars. The Gilmore girls and their neighbors aren't poor per say, but they definitely aren't well off enough to afford new cars. The car in front of her house looks new, like maybe only a year or two old — Heather's own car is nearly twenty years old, older than her, and made so many noises that the blonde was certain it was just going to crap out on her in the near, foreseeable future. The BMW, however, looks like it drove right off of a new car catalogue and it's clear to see whoever owns it is from a well off family. Which is true, because Heather know exactly who drives that specific car.

It's Steve Harrington's car.

Steve Harrington . . . oh, how to describe Steve Harrington. Well, the easy way to put it would be that she knew him through school, despite the Gilmore girl being a year younger and a grade below him. But leaving their connection at just seeing each other around Hawkins High would be cutting out a large part of the story. You see, Heather's known Steve, or at least known of him, for basically her entire life. Hawkins isn't exactly a large town, which made it very possible for people to know most people. And when it comes to knowing people, everyone knew Steve Harrington.

He's one of the popular kids in school, practically regarded as small town royalty. Between his father's business supplying the Harrington family with a modest amount of wealth, his exceedingly good looks (the boy is like crack for the girls — and some boys, to be fucking honest — in Hawkins, considering the majority of the male population aren't exactly that attractive) his running in popular circles, and being involved in some of the sports teams at the high school, people know him. Hawkins knows Steve Harrington in ways they would never know others, ways they would never know Heather Gilmore. Steve Harrington was never supposed to know Heather Gilmore.

They run in different circles, are in different years, different classes. They're two completely different sides of one spectrum. Where Steve parties, dates, and ultimately has fun with his high school experience, Heather's place on the totem pole is a bit different. She isn't too popular, only having two close friends. She isn't exactly off people's radar, but she's far enough to the edge that people don't pay her much attention. She's fine with that, never really wanting to be the center of anyone's attention.

The point is, Heather Gilmore was never supposed to and should never have really been on Steve Harrington's radar. And she wasn't — until that day at Fair Mart, that is.

It had been super early in the semester, well before Heather had tossed in the towel on her shit storm of a job. It had been a Wednesday night, well after school hours and with only so much time before Larson would be closing the shop for the night. The shitty fluorescent lights had been flicking incessantly, the way they always did, and Heather vividly remembers wanting to set fire to the store if the lights flickered one more time. She had been trying to work on her geometry homework and Lord knows flickering lights were only distracting her from angles and all that shit.

Heather had been so engrossed in her schoolwork, the lack of customers in the store making it rather easy to do so. She hadn't even noticed the bell on the door chime, signaling someone coming in and hadn't noticed the dark haired boy that came in and began picking out snack foods. All she remembers is that one moment she was focused on finding the product of A squared and B squared and the next moment, a can of Coke, a packet of M&Ms, and a bag of Funyuns had been set in front of her.

"Jesus Christ," she had exclaimed, jumping up from where she had been leaning against the counter, clearly startled.

Her eyes had widened upon noticing who was in front of her. Steve motherfucking Harrington. Of course. Just her luck that she had to act like a total weirdo in front of the hottest guy at Hawkins High. It wasn't like she had a crush on him or anything (that was true, for the most part . . . but she had had her fair share of mindless daydreams about the kid, but then again, so did half the town). But Heather had also been certain that this was the first time their paths had ever crossed and she just sorta freaked out in front of him.

But Steve had taken it in stride, offering her his signature smile and a small laugh. "Actually, it's Steve," he had joked and Heather remembers rolling her eyes.

"Very original," she had replied, but a small grin had worked itself onto her face.

She had begun ringing him up, pushing her math homework to the side. She had been focused on scanning his items and making sure the three-for-two discount had registered on the register that she hadn't noticed him staring at her. And it wasn't a creepy stare, no definitely not one of those. And although no one could be for certain, because no one had actually observed Steve watching Heather intently, but if one did . . . well, they'd probably say it looked like he was noticing her for the very first time, wondering how he hadn't before.

"It's Heather, right?" Steve had asked, still watching her, cutting off her question if he wanted a bag for his stuff or not.

She had looked at him oddly, brushed a lock of blonde hair behind one ear, and had nodded awkwardly. With a small smile, she had told him, "Yeah, I'm Heather."

Whether he had actually known her name or he had seen it plastered on her name tag, something had definitely changed in that moment. Like the world had shifted off its course onto another one. He had smiled a big smile at her when he paid for his snack and had offhandedly told her he'd see her at school the next day. Heather hadn't thought much of it, until the boy actually saw her the next day and had approached her at her locker, striking up a conversation.

And well, that was that. Over the course of September till now, it's become blatantly obvious that there's something between the two teenagers. At school, they talk in the halls and at lunch, seemingly trying to fill every gap they can with each other. He'll wait outside of her classes for her, under the excuse that he's nearby and could walk with her to her next class, which was total bullshit because she totally knows his previous class was on the other side of the building. She'll walk past his table at lunch when she's with her friends, hoping to catch his eye (which she does) and he'll invite her and her friends to sit. Sometimes she'll say yes, but most times she'll say no on account of the fact that his friends are complete dick wads.

It's the kind of thing that makes her wonder, his friends that is. Between Tommy Hall and Carol Greene and a whole hoard of others, Heather feels like there's something wrong with the situation. Because Heather knows that they're not good people. They're rude and crass and the complete opposites of the people she associates herself with. They call her Buzzkill Blondie whenever Steve brings her around, because all of Hawkins knows who her uncle is. But then there's Steve. And from what she's noticed, Steve is everything that's good and kind. Sure, sometimes he'll act like a complete dumbass, but Heather knows his heart's always in the right place — something she admires about him.

So, yeah, she's a teenager with a bit of a crush. But she's not the only one. If there was one thing that Steve has done during their time being friends, their time talking, was make his feelings rather blatantly clear — he was totally into Heather, a fact that scares her just a bit. She hasn't done the whole dating thing, hasn't even done the somewhat dating thing. At least, not before Steve.

They're not official, not even close. They haven't kissed, although it's not from Steve's lack of trying. He's leant in quite a few times but Heather's brain switches into panicked autopilot and she tends to change the topic, pulling back. He never comments on it or complains though and Heather's pretty sure he knows she's never been kissed before. She knows he definitely has. Steve's had a plethora of girlfriends, like Laurie Colloran and Becky Trotter and Amy Gregory to name a few.

Heather doesn't even acknowledge this, doesn't care that he's definitely more experienced than her. Mostly, she just tries to avoid any sort of thoughts that involve the words Steve and dating. Because she knows it'll start her to think about them. And their status. How they're flirty but they're not dating, but they definitely seem to want to date. They seem to skirt around the topic, to be completely honest which Heather doesn't mind too much. She's barely had time to wrap her head around all of this, the fact that Steve Harrington, the practical king of Hawkins High, is into her. It's a rather large pill to swallow. There's also the fact that Heather hasn't mentioned to her mom that she's talking to someone.

Which is why she's slightly panicked at the fact that Steve is at her house. Granted, Janet isn't home, but if she was . . . well, it's not like Janet would be mad. Just confused as to why Heather hasn't said anything, but that's not something the blonde wants to deal with.

Heather squints at the figure on her doorstep as her car nears the end of the street and that's all it takes to confirm that it's Steve at her house. She wouldn't miss that hair, hell, she could probably pick it out of a lineup. He's facing the door, glancing to one of the windows by the door as if to look for any movement in the house. She wants to roll her eyes, considering the fact that both cars are out of the driveway and he's still expecting someone to open up for him.

She slows down by her driveway and turns to pull in. The sounds of her tires crunching over the gravel that's her driveway get Steve's attention and in seconds, he's turning around on his heels. A smile plasters across lips as he realizes it's Heather's car. He gives a small wave, before shoving his hands into his pockets, still standing on her doorstep.

Heather can't help, but giggle. She's confused, to say the least, but there's definitely something inside her that's jumping around for joy at the sight of her . . . friend on her doorstep. Once she's parked, she cuts the ignition and clambers out, giving the boy an incredulous look.

"What the hell are you doing here, Harrington?" she asks with a laugh as she locks the door to her car. She slips her hands into her pockets, mirroring Steve almost, as she makes the short trek between her car and the steps to her house.

Steve shrugs. "Well, I was in the area and I thought I'd stop by to see you."

"It's only, like, eight thirty in the morning, Steve," Heather replies, raising an eyebrow. She heads up the small amount of stairs until they're both stood at the very top, facing each other. They're close, the kind of close that makes her heartbeat pick up a bit. She hopes he doesn't notice.

He gives her a strange look, before gesturing to her. "Well, you're up, aren't you?"

She snorts. "Yeah, but I was doing something for my mom this morning. Most people our age aren't out of bed until at least nine or ten on a Saturday."

Mostly, she wants him to give her the real reason. She has a pretty good idea of what it is, too, but she's not going to fill in the blank for him. A part of Heather knows what it is, that this is all a part of the fact that they're dancing around each other with little heart shapes for eyes. She knows she likes him and she knows that he likes her. He's made that abundantly clear (she hasn't exactly been vocal, but she's fairly certain her blushes and the fact that she's constantly in his company is enough for him to get the hint).

But, as per the whole skirting around the topic, Steve gives her a shrug. There's a telltale smile on his lips as he bluffs, "Maybe I'm an early riser, you don't know."

"Bullshit," Heather says between coughs, making it clear what she said under them. Steve rolls his eyes, but the smile stays on his face. She's not quite sure if he's ever not smiled at her. She ignores that thought, before giving him a look. "How do you even know where I live?"

Another shrug. "Small town. Plus, your mailbox has your last name on it in, like, excessively large letters."

"That doesn't sound like it'd hold up in court," Heather replies casually, able to keep up the minor banter between them without missing a beat. Her hands are still jammed in her pockets and she's got her keys tucked in between her fingers, wondering when she'll be able to get out of the cold, early November morning air.

"I'm not stalking you, Gilmore," Steve replies, his usual flirtatious smirk covering his face. He laughs and then leans up against her front door. He's trying to look smooth, but all Heather can do is snort. Steve gives her another look before shrugging, "I just haven't seen you in a while, thought we could hang out or something."

"Steve, it's Saturday," Heather deadpans with amused gleam in her eyes. "I literally just saw you yesterday at school."

"Yeah, but that's school. And we don't have classes together, so it's not like we see a lot of each other," he points out, as if that makes all the difference.

Well, it sort of does, because Heather can't help but break out into a large grin. But she doesn't give in to her urge to aw, instead rolling her eyes. "Well, maybe that's your fault for being born early. If you'd waited a couple of months, maybe we'd be in the same grade."

She grabs his shoulder, gently nudging him out of the way. She's grown tired of the bitter chill to the air and she knows there's an abundance of heat behind the door calling her name. Steve seems to get the hint and steps to the side a bit, maneuvering to allow her to get to the door's lock. He's behind her now, impossibly close. She swears she can feel his breath on the back of her neck and she fumbles with her keys. He laughs, before replying, "Maybe it's your fault for being born late."

Heather bites her lip. She gulps. Her keys in the lock now, but it's a standstill as she tries to collect her thoughts. It's hard to do so with him so close though. She sighs. "Seriously, Steve, what do you want?"

He moves from directly behind her and leans back on the metal railing that lines her front steps, far enough back that she can turn to look at him. His normal devil may care smirk is on his lips and it's the kind of expression that makes Heather feel butterflies — God, she's pathetic. So utterly, utterly pathetic. She's fallen into clutches of a crush and, shit, has she quickly began sinking to the bottom.

"Like I said, we could hang out. Maybe get some breakfast? They make a mean short stack at the Sunrise — "

Heather's eyes go wide and she doesn't even let him finish. "Nope, nope, definitely out of the question. One hundred percent off the table."

Steve chuckles and questions, "Why not? Do you not like pancakes? I don't know if I can hang out with someone who doesn't like pancakes."

Heather sighs, turning back to her door. She finally turns the key, unlocking the deadbolt and then the other lock as well. The keys are then shoved back in her pocket and she turns back to Steve, one of her hands on the door handle. "Because my mom works at The Sunrise."

Steve gives her an amused look. "Ashamed of me, Gilmore?"

"What? No. Why the — no, I'm not ashamed of you. My mom just doesn't know about you, is all."

"Why not?" Steve asks, feigning offense. And then, pointing a finger at her, he adds "I'll have you know parents love me."

"She doesn't need to love you because she doesn't need to know about you. I mean, how would I even introduce you?" Heather exclaims.

She knows it's not going to bring about any sort of define the relationship conversations (even though she sort of wishes it would — okay, she totally wishes it would). He's said even sappier stuff to her, let alone allude to the fact that Heather definitely couldn't introduce Steve as just a friend. They might not have kissed yet, but they're way past friendship.

Steve ponders this for a moment, before shrugging. "You could just tell her that I'm your knight in shining armor with smoldering good looks and great hair."

Heather snorts, instantly imagining Janet rolling her eyes at that. If there was one thing Janet Gilmore didn't fall for, it was smooth talking lines like that. And then, in a teasing tone, the blonde adds, "She'd probably be more inclined to ask why you wear more product in your hair than she does."

Steve seems to freeze for a moment, as if he's been caught doing something wrong, and Heather nearly questions him about it before he's spouting out, "Product? Who uses product in their hair? Not me. This is all, one hundred percent natural, kid."

"Okay, one, you're like barely a year older than me, you can't call me kid. And two, you saying you don't use product is bullshit and you know it."

"What's bullshit is that you don't want to hang out with me," Steve says with a slight chuckle, feigning hurt.

Heather rolls her eyes. She jams her hands back into her pockets and she's begun to bounce slightly on her heels, the chill of the air getting to her. "I never said that."

"Did too."

"Did not."

"Did too."

"Did not!"

"Did too!"

"Did not!"

"Well, you inferred it."

"Jesus Christ," Heather groans, quickly growing tired of the back and forth.

She briefly wonders if slamming her head off the door will get her out of it. But then she sighs. She's got a chem exam this week, she sort of needs her brain in good condition. She glances at the door and then the driveway. It'd be hours before her mom was able to leave work . . . and it was a lot warmer inside her house then on the porch . . . and to be honest, she wouldn't mind getting alone time with Steve . . .

Heather continues to mull it over for the next few moments before she sighs. Reaching for her doorknob, she pulls open the front door. Heather glances at the boy beside her, who watches in confusion. "We can hang out at my place. I'm sort of sick of standing on my porch and honestly, the little old lady across the street will probably sic her cat on you if she thinks you're bothering me. Which you are, but Mr. Snuffles shouldn't have to deal with you."

Heather steps into the front hall of her house, immediately doused in warm air as Steve strolls in behind her. The blue painted walls of the Gilmore house are the first thing that stand out to Steve as he shuts the door behind him, mostly because it occurs to him that the walls are nearly the same color as the blonde's eyes. His lip twitches upwards a bit at that. After the walls, he notices the pictures lining the walls, the knick knacks located on a shelf near the doorway. The house is small and even from here Steve can tell that it's mildly cluttered but he feels like that's what gives it its charm. It looks lived in, like it's truly someone's home.

Mostly, it occurs to him that this is definitely the sort of place that Heather Gilmore would inhabit. He watches her take her coat off and he can't help but smile at the way her cheeks are still tinged pink from the cold. Steve keeps his thoughts to himself though, as he slips off his own jacket and hangs it up next to hers. She turns to him and pauses and Steve feels like he should break the ice. So he does, in a somewhat corny way.

"So, should we head to your room?" Steve asks, giving her a comically suggestive look. As if to add on to the cheesiness of his expression, he gives a rather obnoxious wink.

Heather gives him a look of disbelief before she snorts. She shoves lightly at his chest. "Uh, that's a negative. We're staying downstairs, big guy."

Once again, Steve feigns shock. "You don't trust me to be a completely innocent gentleman in your bedroom, Gilmore?"

She gives him a look. "I barely trust you to do that on my front porch, Harrington," she deadpans.

"Hey! That's . . . " Steve pauses, letting her words sink in. He then gives her a shrug. "Actually, that's probably a valid point."

"You're an absolute mess, Steve," Heather says with laughter bubbling up through her lips.

"You're the one who let an absolute mess into their house, so who's the real mess now, Gilmore?"

"Shut up," she mutters, a wide smile on her face. She shoves at his shoulder lightly again.

He steps closer to her. His voice lowers a bit and he can't help but run a hand down her arm. He mumbles, "Make me."

" . . . You can hang out for a few hours, but you have to leave before my mom comes home. Last thing I need is her finding a random boy in the house," Heather instructs, while she leans back ever so slightly. Her panic mode has set in, it would seem. And then she points a finger at him, as if she were a stern teacher. "And no funny business, mister."

Steve snaps her a salute. "Scout's honor."

Heather furrows her brow. "Steve, you were never a scout."

"Oh, well now who's stalking who?"

"And now I'm regretting not letting Mrs. Gilchrist unleash her cat on you."

* * *

 **So this is the first chapter of Gasoline. I hope you all enjoy this and future chapters about Heather as much I'll be enjoying writing them!**


	2. All About a Boy

_"Are you sure you two aren't dating?"_

It's a question that makes Heather Gilmore groan. The blonde shakes her head, glancing towards the ceiling of the room she's in as if to ask whatever higher being is up there _why in the fuck do you do this to me?_ She rolls slightly, putting more weight onto one side before she replies. "I know I'm sure about the fact that you're lucky you couldn't come to Nance's tonight otherwise I'd be beating you with a pillow, Barb."

Barb Holland, who is in fact the Barb that Heather just technically threatened with pillow warfare, lets out a sharp peal of laughter on the other side of the phone. Beside Heather, Nancy Wheeler pulls the phone a couple inches from her ears, Barb's laughter piercing her eardrums. After a moment she moves the telephone back to it's original position, settled between her head and Heather's. Nancy shifts her position slightly on her bed, shoulder knocking against Heather's. The two share a grin, adjust the way that their legs are crossed in the air and tilt their heads towards each other so that they can both listen to Barb's rambling on the other end of the line.

There's a chemistry textbook, flashcards written in different colors, and notes that are meticulously highlighted scattered at the end of the bed. Truly, this night is meant to be a study night for the three girls. They all have Kaminsky for chem, the notorious hard ass of Hawkins High, and this chem test was certainly going to make want to slam their heads off walls. Or at least, it will for Heather. Nancy and Barb are academically inclined but the Gilmore girl has never been one for chemistry . . . or science at all for that matter. Anyways, they're supposed to be studying, all three of them, at the Wheeler's house. But Mr. and Mrs. Holland had decided literally two hours ago that they wanted Barb home way before her curfew, leaving only Heather and Nancy to congregate at the latter's house. And once they had gotten on the phone with Barb, all had been lost.

Honestly, the phone call was meant to be a way for the three to still study together (Heather is adamant that she needs all the help she can get when it comes to chem), but in retrospect, it was a shitty idea. Especially since the topic of conversation is no longer about cations and anions and the melting points of certain things or stoichiometry, whatever the fuck that is. Instead, their conversation is all about a boy.

Steve Harrington, to be exact.

He has become a favorite topic of conversation amongst the three girls, regardless of Barb and Nancy's personal opinions of him (Barb thinks he's mainly trying to get into Heather's pants and Nancy just isn't a fan of his friends, which is fair). He's a hot commodity at Hawkins High, an upperclassman with the title of king (whenever Heather brings that up, Steve waves her off awkwardly, but she's pretty sure she's seen him blush over it) and he's got his eyes on their best friend. It's like something out of a teen romantic comedy, honestly.

 _"Oh come on, Heather. He went to your house yesterday morning for no other reason than to hang out with you! He's totally into you,"_ Barb laughs, another sharp peal of giggles escaping her.

"She's got a point, Heather," Nancy points out from beside the blonde, making the girl glare. "I'm just saying, no guy just randomly shows up at someone's house at like eight in the morning if he just wants to be friends."

Heather bites her lip and she's sure her cheeks are blazing at this point. Steve's feelings aren't much of a secret to her — it's sort of hard when he makes them abundantly clear, like, every time they hang out. And yesterday had been no exception from that. They had stayed down in her living room and true to his promise he hadn't tried any funny business. But he had sat awfully close to her on her couch as they watched random television shows on her crappy set and at one point his arm had stretched behind her when he "yawned". Yeah, she saw through that play with ease. That hadn't stopped the plague of butterflies that swarmed in her stomach at the feeling of his arm wrapped around her as they pretty much cuddled along to an episode of The Love Boat. And it hadn't stopped her from sneakily glancing at him when he laughed at funny scenes. Nor had it stopped her from wondering how easy it would be to just lean up and kiss him and run her hands through that infamous head of hair of his.

God, she's really fucking into him, isn't she?

But still, she digresses. "We just hung out for the day, it wasn't like anything seriously relationship like happened," Heather says, fiddling with her fingers awkwardly. "We just had some snacks and sat on the couch to watch TV."

"And how far apart on that couch were you?" Nancy says with a beaming smile and eyes shining brightly. There's a teasing tone to her voice and it makes Heather want to shove Nancy off her own bed. But really, she doesn't need Mrs. Wheeler disliking her more than she already does.

"You know for a fact that my couch is small, that point is unneeded, Wheeler," Heather retorts, moving to rest one hand on her head.

 _"Okay, but riddle me this,"_ Barb interjects. _"Did you or did you not just spend a solid five minutes squealing about how he put his arm around you and basically cuddled you for like two hours?"_

" . . . I didn't squeal, Holland."

"I don't know," Nancy teases, brushing some loose flashcards away with her hand as she does so. "Sounded pretty excited and shrill to me."

Heather wonders where a hole in the floor to swallow her up is when she needs one. She runs the hand on her head through her hair. "We aren't dating, guys. He's just . . . "

"Being very forward about his feelings?" Nancy quips.

At the same time, on the other end of the phone, Barb asks, _"Trying to wear you down until you finally let him kiss you?"_

"I'm surprised he hasn't just kissed her already," Nancy remarks in response to Barb's comment, her curls bouncing around her shoulders when Heather gives her a shove. She shrugs, grins, and gives Heather a shove back.

Heather groans. She lets her fingers pick at the pink stitching on Nancy's bedspread. The blonde knows the brunette will swat her hand away in a few seconds, but she needs something to keep her occupied as she finds the words to reply with. "He knows I'm not comfortable, so he's waiting, what's so wrong with that?"

On the phone, Barb puts in her two cents. _"There's nothing wrong with it,"_ she agrees and almost instantly, Heather can hear the but in her tone. _"What Nancy means is that he's not exactly known for waiting around. Like with Becky and Amy and Laurie."_

Heather sighs, bites her lips, and she can feel her eyes narrow slightly. They've had this conversation before, always about Steve, always mentioning the other girls. It makes Heather sick to her stomach to think about it. He's allowed to have girls in his past, he's allowed to have slept with other girls and those other girls are sure as hell allowed to explore and indulge in their sexuality if and when they want. It's not that in itself that makes her squirm. It's the fact that this conversation seems to happen time and time again, as if him having a slew of girls he's dated is supposed to ward her off.

"Barb," she warns. Beside her, Nancy cringes. The Wheeler girl knows exactly where this is heading, knows this conversation like the back of her hand. It starts out with a conversation about Steve, escalates to someone mentioning Steve making a move, and then Barb brings up every reason why Heather should be one hundred and ten percent on her guard around Steve — or better yet, just avoid Steve entirely.

(Spoiler alert: Heather is totally, one hundred percent not for that idea.)

 _"H, we're just trying to protect you, okay? Look out for your best interest. We're not saying Steve's gonna be like this with you because so far it seems like he's genuine, but you've seen him with other girls. He dates them for a few weeks, sleeps with them, and then it's done."_

"I'm not just going to sleep with him because he bats his eyelashes at me, Barb," Heather replies, tone fairly even though she feels like she's going to snap.

She's sick of this conversation, she's sick of the way that it makes her wonder what Steve's intentions truly are. She wants to ignore the fact that he has a shitty track record and just focus on the Steve that she knows, not the Steve that everyone talks about. Isn't that what she's supposed to do? Give him the benefit of the doubt? And seriously, how could she not give him the benefit of the doubt when he tries to hold her hand in the hallways when he walks her to class? How could Heather not see him only for what she knows when he gives her that million dollar smile and teases her when her cheeks flush at the compliments he throws at her out of the blue? Seriously, how could she not give him the benefit of the doubt when her heart is screaming at her to indulge this crush much deeper than she has been?

Was it so bad, really? That Steve likes her and that she likes him? God, there's nothing wrong with a boy being interested in her for the first time in like ever. It's not much of a secret amongst the friends that this is most assuredly the first guy who has ever given Heather attention for more than a few days. It's been a little over two months since they first spoke in the Fair Mart and so far, Steve's been pretty consistent with only showing attention to Heather — or, at least attention that screams _I wanna make out with your face_. God, Steve really shows Heather that kind of attention, if the handful of times he's tried to kiss her means anything.

But she's getting off track. There's nothing wrong with her being into Steve Harrington or the fact that she totally wants to kiss him despite the fact that she goes into panic mode anytime his lips get less than a foot away from her own. There's nothing wrong with her wanting to hold his hand and cuddle and make out, even with his shitty track record that seems to hang over them like an itchy blanket every time Barb hints towards it.

 _"I'm just saying — "_

Heather is about to interject that maybe she shouldn't say anything at all, but Nancy beats her to it. Just, less passive aggressive than Heather would have. "Okay, when I mentioned him kissing her without warning, it was because he's clearly super into her. Not because he just wants to have sex with her and never speak to her again. He hasn't done anything stupid so far, so what's the harm in them hanging out? He's cute, she's cute, they're cute together, that's it," Nancy blurts out, rushing through her words.

Classic Nancy, Heather thinks, always jumping in when she sees a fight brewing. Well, only if it's a fight in their friend group, she's not mitigating other people's fights as far as Heather's aware. Hell, when it comes to Nancy's younger brother, Mike, she's usually the one instigating the fight.

 _"Oh God, do you suddenly have a crush on this kid too?"_

Heather snorts, glancing over at Nancy who now looks mortified. It doesn't even shock her in the slightest that Nancy finds Steve attractive — as she's said before, everyone finds him attractive. It's nearly impossible not to, something that's becoming more and more clear to Heather as the days go on. Heather also knows that Nancy isn't crushing on Steve, not in the slightest, but the fact that she just mindlessly blurted out that she thinks he's attractive was honestly amusing as hell. Enough so that Heather tacks on a teasing remark after Barb's outburst.

"If you want, I can put in a good word for you, Nancy," Heather says with a giggle, causing the Wheeler girl's cheek to flame brighter.

She turns to the Gilmore girl with wild eyes before she begins shaking her head violently. "I do _not_ like Steve!"

 _"Yeah, Nancy goes for the quiet types. She's not into the big man on campus type,"_ Barb giggles on the line. She then tosses in a, _"No offense, Heather,"_ for good measure.

Heather shrugs. She already knows Nancy isn't into Steve, the Harrington boy being the furthest thing from her type. Before the Wheeler girl can begin to argue, Heather teases, "Quiet type, hmm . . . so definitely not any of Steve's friends . . . or half the boys at school, then. But there's gotta be a few quiet ones somewhere — "

"Shut up, Heather, please, for the love of God!" Nancy interjects, but the blonde pays no mind, enjoying the way her friend's cheeks are burning. Heather knocks her shoulder against Nancy's.

" — but do we mean quiet as in bookish and well read quiet or are we talking about artsy, loner type quiet?"

If Nancy was burning like a tomato before, it would appear that all the color has gone out of her skin. She pales and balks at Heather's lilting tone, all too familiar with where this is going.

 _"Oh, definitely loner artsy quiet,"_ Barb replies and Heather can almost picture the smirk plastered across the Holland girl's face.

"Well, let's see, artsy and loner quiet . . . that sounds awfully familiar, doesn't it, Nance? Hmm, yeah, you know what? It does. In fact it sounds exactly like a description of a certain photographer we all know. Y'know, the one whose little brother is currently two floors below us?"

The boy in question is one Jonathan Byers, who the girls have known for nearly their whole lives. The Byers boy is in their grade at school and he is literally the textbook definition of a loner. Hell, Heather is pretty sure she's only spoken to him a handful of times. But Nancy? Nancy tends to see a lot of the Byers boy, considering his younger brother Will is one of Mike Wheeler's best friends. Heather and Barb have caught Nancy glancing at the camera junkie's direction numerous times, despite Nancy denying any and all attraction to the kid — yeah, that sounds like bull to Heather. Which she's made abundantly clear, of course.

 _"Will's there?"_ Barb questions. _"Does that mean we'll be getting to see Jonathan later, Miss Wheeler? Heather, get her reaction on camera, please I'm begging."_

Heather snorts. Nancy is far from amused. "No, I don't think — "

 _"I mean, you don't think he's ugly do you?"_

"The expression on her face says otherwise, Barb," Heather interjects, seeing Nancy bite her lip.

Nancy groans. " . . . Yeah, he's cute."

 _"So you like him then?"_

"Barb, no."

 _"Is he coming over to pick up Will tonight?"_

Nancy looks like she wants to smash her head off the floor. Heather glances down and catches sight of a stoichiometry related index card and suddenly wants to do the exact same. But Nancy doesn't see the way that Heather hurls the small three by five piece of paper to the ground, too focused on warding off Barb. "I don't think so. Barb, you're not — "

Barb starts to cut Nancy off, but both girls sat in the curly haired girl's bedroom are soon distracted when her bedroom door is pushed open, a cherubic face poking their head in. Dustin Henderson, one of Mike's other best friends, barely steps over the threshold of Nancy's room, a pizza box held tightly in his hands. His signature baseball cap is pulled down over his curls and he gives them a toothless grin as he gives them a wave.

"Hey, Nancy. Hey, Heather!" he greets. He flips open the pizza box, missing the way Nancy gives him an annoyed stare. "There's a slice left if either of you want it. Sausage and pepperoni!"

If Nancy is trying her best to fake a smile at him, she's failing miserably. "Hold on," she mutters into the phone to Barb, before she shoves the handset into Heather's grasp. The blonde fumbles with the blue piece of technology as Nancy clambers to her feet and promptly slams the door in Dustin's face. Heather cringes.

When Nancy heads back to the bed, it's another round of hand off with the phone. Heather pushes herself off the bed, tossing a comment of, "The fact that you just turned down free pizza is shameful, Wheeler," over her shoulder as she heads to the now shut door.

"Where are you going?" Nancy questions.

"Give me a second," Heather replies, before opening the door. Dustin's barely made it a foot towards the stairs and the lone slice is now being munched on as he heads away. "Hey, Henderson!"

Dustin turns around, mouth full of sausage, pepperoni, and cheese. The food in his mouth doesn't deter him from speaking. "Myeah?"

"Is Mrs. Wheeler making you guys ship out for the night?"Heather asks and she gives him a small smile. When he nods, she tells him, "I'll head down with you, probably better she doesn't start yelling up at me to get the hell out."

He gives her an odd look but nods at her nonetheless. The Gilmore girl dashes back into Nancy's room and begins slinging her bag over her shoulder. Nancy gives her an odd look as she balances the phone between her shoulder and her ear. "Are you sure you actually want to be leaving?"

"It's better than your mom coming up here and listening in as Barb and I lecture you about your secret love affair," Heather says with a smirk. She doesn't give Nancy a chance to respond, tossing a bright smile over her shoulder. "See ya tomorrow, future Mrs. Byers."

"You're such a — "

Nancy's rants are cut off by Heather shutting the door behind her. The blonde gives Dustin another smile before the two head towards the stairs. She lets the Henderson boy head down first, silence filling the air as he munches on the pizza.

"So . . . " Heather starts, finding it a little odd that she's walking down the stairs in complete silence with this kid. Heather, unlike Nancy, doesn't mind Mike and his friends. They're a bit foul mouthed for their age, but they're insanely hilarious and their immense interest in school — specifically science — is something that Heather finds endearing. "Have a good game?"

In front of her, Dustin nods wildly as they reach the last of the steps. "Mike planned a ridiculously long campaign, but we got through a lot. Sorta went south when the Demogorgon almost got us."

As they head towards the door, making their way through the kitchen, Heather tries to look like she understands what he's saying. "Oh, uh . . . that sucks?" Heather offers, her brows furrowing in confusion. _What the fuck is a Demogorgon?_

"Yeah, we were in deep shit," Dustin swears, shaking his head forlornly as if he had just returned home from a ten year battle overseas. Thankfully, it seems as if Mrs. Wheeler has left the kitchen for the time being, not present to hear the boy's curse word. He pauses to fold the remnants of the pizza box and stuff it in the garbage can, before he continues to the exit. "Mike's mom started kicking us out before anything too bad could happen and Mike didn't see the roll, so we're good."

Heather chuckles. "Sounds like a wild time."

"It was," he agrees, tugging open the door to the outside as he starts to finish up the last of the pizza. Outside, Mike stands by his father's car as Lucas Sinclair and Will Byers start releasing the kickstands on their bikes. A little bit further down the long stretch of the Wheeler's drive is Heather's shitty Chevelle. Dustin wipes his hands on his pants as he mutters out to Mike, "There's something wrong with your sister."

Mike, who was in the middle of saying something to Will, gives Dustin a look. Tossing his hands out to his sides somewhat, he asks, "What are you talking about?"

"She's got a stick up her butt," Dustin responds while he retrieves his own bike, as if it were obvious. Heather snorts as she digs through the pocket on her bag for her car keys.

"Yeah," Lucas agrees, swinging one leg his bike over to sit. "It's because she's been dating that douche bag, Steve Harrington."

Heather, who managed to find her keys in the past few seconds, nearly drops them at Lucas's comment. _Nancy dating Steve?_ Where the fuck did he get that from? She doesn't even bother acknowledging the douche bag part of the comment, finding herself a little too amused at the fact that Mike's friends thought that his sister was dating Steve. Steve, who spent half of yesterday cuddling Heather on her own couch.

Dustin nods. "Yeah, she's turning into a real jerk."

"Okay, one, she's always been a real jerk," Mike argues, causing the Gilmore girl to snort again. But then Mike begins jutting his thumb in Heather's direction, making her furrow her brows together. He ignores her perplexed expression, continuing on to his friends. "And two, Nancy's not dating Steve. Heather is."

Within seconds, two sets of eyes lock on the blonde.

"Heather, what the shit?" Dustin swears.

Lucas looks at her as if she's groan three heads. "What the hell is wrong with you?"

Heather nearly chokes on her own saliva as the two shout out their inquiries, leaving Will to laugh silently to himself and Mike to roll his eyes. Her eyes are wild as she rounds on Mike, exclaiming, "I am so _not_ dating Steve Harrington. Who the hell told you that?"

"Nancy."

"What the fuck, Wheeler?" Heather mumbles to herself, silently cursing her best friend. She turns back to the four middle schooler's who are all watching her with half amused and half confused expressions. "Okay, I'm not dating Steve, alright? There's no dating happening. None. Dates are nonexistent."

"That sounds exactly like someone who is having dates would say," Dustin remarks.

"Shut up, pipsqueak," she mutters, swatting his shoulder gently. She plays with her keys for a moment, eyeing her car. Truly she wants to be in bed as quick as possible, passed out until she has to wake up for school, but she eyes the three kids who don't live at the house they're stood in front of for a moment. Heather turns, glancing over at Lucas. "You live close to here, right?"

"Around the corner," he confirms. He even juts his thumb in the direction of his street for good measure.

Heather hums in agreement, eyes scanning over the last two. Will gives her a smile and it's infectious. Heather's always thought Will was the sweetest out of the four, with his kind heart and his little bowl cut hair style. He's the kind of kid you want to give a giant chocolate bar and a hug to. She also knows that his bike ride would be the longest out of the three, it just being common knowledge that the Byers live pretty far out towards the edges of Hawkins. "Will, I know you live sorta far out. What about you, Dustin?"

He swallows the last of the pizza crust. "A couple blocks, why?"

"You two want a ride?" Heather asks, nodding her chin towards her car. She eyes their bikes for a second, her mind trying to figure out how everything's gonna fit. Her trunk isn't big, persay. But she's not going to just drive off on a cold November night without at least trying. "I'm gonna be honest, I don't exactly know if I could fit both your bikes in my trunk, but if all else fails, we can leave the trunk hanging open and I'll just try and tie it down with some twine, like it was a Christmas tree in there or whatever."

Lucas raises an eyebrow, leaning against his handles. "You have twine?"

"Yeah, I have twine." Heather then glances upward, holding her hand out as she begins to tick a laundry list of what she has stashed in her car on her fingers. " . . . And a shovel and jumper cables and a blanket and a roll of duct tape and a spare pair of clothes and shoes. Oh, and a first aid kit!"

Will's brow ruffles together as he asks in confusion, "You just have all that in your trunk?"

Heather shrugs, giving him a pointed look. "I never joke about safety precautions, Byers. But seriously, you guys want a ride or what?"

"We have bikes," Dustin points out, "Why do you wanna give us a ride?"

"Because it's dark . . . and, like, super cold out," Heather explains lamely. The blonde even seems to wiggle deeper into her jacket for warmth; she's going to have to break out her thicker jacket soon, it would seem. She then cringes at the thought of the shitty condition of her Chevelle, before adding on, "Granted the heater in my car is a little shot, but it's better than nothing I guess."

The two seem to mull over her idea and for a moment it looks like Will wants to accept. But Dustin, ever the boisterous adolescent, exclaims, "We can't. Will and I are gonna race for a comic tonight, right Will?"

Will pauses, looking as if he had completely forgotten about that arrangement. "Any comic?" he says with a wide grin.

"Yeah, I need to finish my collection, duh," Dustin laughs, before he begins to peddle. "C'mon, we'll start at the street!"

Lucas starts up after him. "Why the hell wasn't I included in this race, asshole?"

"Because you live too close!" Dustin exclaims, shaking his head.

Heather, who didn't even get a second to ask are you sure you don't want a ride lets out a amused chuckle as she watches the two boys. She turns back to Will and Mike, who have begun to quietly whisper to themselves about something, Heather only catching a small bit about something being a seven.

"Are you sure you don't want a ride, Will?" Heather questions as the boy straightens his wheel.

He gives her a boyish grin. "Nah, I need his X-Men 134 for my collection," he tells her. As he moves to head towards the edge of the drive, he adds, "Thanks for the offer though, Heather!"

Something in her tells her that she should just ignore their declining of her offer. She should tell them to get in the car. Sure, Hawkins is a safe town, but was it really safe enough for kids to bike across town in the dark? But she sees the excitement on Will's faces as he begins pedaling towards the edge of the drive to join Dustin and Lucas. Who is she to ruin their fun? And so, despite everything in her that wants to just pick them up and buckle them into her car, Heather Gilmore lets them begin to head off. She gives a nod to Mike, who still seems to be raising an eyebrow from whatever Will muttered to him moments ago, before she climbs into her car.

The lights on the Wheeler's garage flicker before Mike gets a chance to shut them off, something Heather's seen happen hundreds of times. Mrs. Wheeler always complains to Mr. Wheeler about it, but it doesn't happen often enough that the patriarch of the family sees it as something that they need to fix ASAP. But there's something different about the air on this November night as she buckles herself in. She sits in her car parked in front of the garage for a few seconds more as Mike heads back inside, the blonde watching the lights of Dustin, Lucas, and Will's bikes fade out as they pedaled out into the street. There's something different about the way the air feels, something that feels off about the way the lights flicker. She tries to brush it off as a chill runs up her spine, her entire body telling her something was wrong. She tries to shake it off again.

Heather starts her car, turning her towards the back as she shifts into reverse to head out of the Wheeler's driveway. When she finally pulls onto the street, another chill runs down her spine when she can just barely make out the sight of Will Byers pedaling after one of his friends before he fades out of view permanently, the darkness of the night swallowing him whole.

And unbeknownst to anyone at that moment, the darkness truly was going to take Will Byers away from them, in ways that no one could possibly describe.


End file.
